


That One Time Cas Died

by planiforidjit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Dean/OC - Freeform, M/M, but it's supernatural, dean/cas - Freeform, so it's pretty short lived, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planiforidjit/pseuds/planiforidjit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas dies and Dean is not very good at accepting it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Time Cas Died

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off so depressing and honestly I don't know why I wrote something so depressing. Forgive me for the not so great editing. I just wanted to get it off my computer.

"Castiel is dead." 

Dean sits down slowly. "Excuse me?" 

"I am here to tell you that Castiel perished." 

"How? Who?" 

"An angel blade. There are those who are still loyal to Metatron." 

"I'm gonna kill that tiny son of a bitch. Who the hell do you work for? Do you work for him? The tiniest and most annoying of all the scribes?" 

"No. I worked for Castiel. I now work for Rachel. I came because I thought you would like to know." 

"You're damn right I want to know!" 

The angel just stares at him. She looks like she's ready to go. 

"Just give me a name. Tell me who did it." 

"An angel named Matthew." 

"Like Saint Matthew?" 

"No. Another Matthew." 

Dean rolls his eyes. "You see this Matthew, you tell him, I'm coming for him. You tell him that I will destroy him." 

"He is already apprehended." 

Dean only has a moment to feel bad for being disappointed. "What?" 

"He killed our captain. We have apprehended him. He will answer for his crimes." 

Dean closes his eyes, lets out a long, ragged breath. He opens his eyes. "Go." 

"Of course." 

Dean thought he would have to yell again. But the angel is gone. And Dean is standing alone in a giant bookstore, trying to understand what just happened. Cas is a lot of things, but he cannot be dead. 

He storms to the bathroom and locks the door. 

"Castiel." He closes his eyes, thinks, prays, longs with as much energy as he can muster. "Cas. Get your ass down here." 

Cas doesn't appear. 

"Cas," he says, his voice a little weaker. "Please, buddy. Get down here. We need to talk." 

Nothing. 

"Cas?" 

Dean pulls it all together, takes a deep breath. He's got this. He leaves the bookstore, gets back to the impala, drives to the bunker. 

Sam isn't there. He's out at the grocery store. It's good. Because Dean breaks everything. 

The lamps and tables and chairs in the library. The dishes in the kitchen. His phone, a computer, artwork that can't be replaced. 

He destroys all of it, anything he can get his hands on. And it's not the mark. It's not the same rage. He doesn't want blood. He just wants shards of glass from the fucking mirrors in the hallways. He wants the shitty wood of the desk in his bedroom. He pulls out a sawed off shotgun and shoots a lamp off a table. He shoots the switchboard that doesn't work in the radio room. He shoots one of the old computers. 

Sam finds him on his knees in a pile of broken dishes in the kitchen.

Sam says his name, kneels down with him even though it hurts and wraps his arms around him. 

"Cas is dead," Dean says before Sam can ask what happened. He pushes Sam off him and stands up. He takes a deep breath, but it doesn't get anywhere. He doesn't feel like he can breathe at all. "I'm sorry." He closes his eyes. Swallows. "I—I'll clean it up tomorrow, Sam. I just have to—I'm tired." 

"Wait, Dean," Sam says. "Just tell me what happened." 

"He was killed by another angel. One loyal to Metatron. It's already been taken care of. There's nothing for us to do now." 

"Nothing? He's really gone." 

"Yeah," Dean says. "He's gone. I'll see you in the morning." 

Dean steps over the broken glass in his room and shuts the door. He pulls back the sheets on his bed and gets in without taking off his jeans or his shoes. He pulls the covers over his shoulder and rolls onto his side. 

When he gets out of bed later, he doesn't know how much later, his room is still destroyed. But the bunker is cleaned. Sam makes them coffee, talks about the next hunt. Dean listens, agrees, drinks coffee. 

Dean comes back from showering to see that Sam is in his room cleaning. 

"Sammy. I'm an adult. I can clean my room." 

"It's fine, Dean. I got it." 

 

Weeks later Dean is at a bar. He's hunting. But there's a skinny guy with messy dark hair and blue eyes. Dean takes a shot, goes over, buys the guy a drink. 

Dean fucks him from behind, hand fisted in the guy's hair. 

He doesn't fall asleep there. He just pulls his clothes back on, walks back to his car. He sits in the front seat, listens to one of his dad's cassettes, and he sobs. He sobs and sobs until it starts to get light out, until there's a knock on his window and for a second Dean thinks that maybe it's Cas. Somehow it has to be Cas. 

It's a police officer. She's holding a flashlight to see into his car in the dim morning light. 

Dean rolls down his window. 

"You okay, son?" the officer asks. 

He wipes his eyes. "Yeah." 

"You been drinkin'?" 

He shakes his head. "Sorry. My, uh, my friend died. I keep losing track of...everything." 

She nods. "Sorry to hear that. Do you need me to call someone?" 

"No. I just need to get home." 

"You live close by?" 

"Yeah." 

"You live alone?" She's asking because she's worried, but it just makes Dean want to rip out his hair until his scalp bleeds. 

"Nope," he says. 

"Okay." She steps back and bangs on the hood of his car. "Get home safe." 

 

 

"Word on the street is your annoying little lapdog, Cas, is dead," Crowley says.

Crowley appeared with his mother in the middle of the coffee shop while Dean was investigating a haunting. Sam is at the library. 

"You'd be right," says Dean. 

"You poor thing," Crowley says. "You must miss him so much. You had such a fun relationship to watch. Almost as fun as me and you." 

"I'm not doing this right now, you black-eyed son of a bitch." 

Rowena gasps. "Don't talk about my boy that way." 

Crowley rolls his eyes towards her. "He does have a point. Bitch." 

"That's no way to talk to your mother, Fergus. Look at the poor beautiful boy. He's clearly all torn up. Maybe we should help him get rid of some of that misery. I bet you'd like to kill something? Kill someone?" 

"Maybe you," Dean says with a little smile. 

"Oh no, sweetie. What if we could offer you something better?" 

"What's better than your head on a platter?" Dean asks. 

Rowena gives him a cute smile, like she's flirting with him. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe Metatron's head on a platter. Maybe Metatron's body in pieces?" 

"And maybe," Crowley says. "Along with Metatron's body you could find Castiel's grace. How does that sound, squirrel?" 

"It sounds like your messing with me. Why would you want me to have any of that?" 

"I've got some favors to ask you. First my reign in hell is being challenged. I want to know you're on my side. Maybe offer me some help." 

"Why would I be on your side to keep you king of hell?" 

"Better the enemy you know, eh?" 

"What about now freakin enemy at all?" 

Crowley clicks his tongue. "You know that's not possible."

Rowena holds out her hands. "All we need, Dean is a promise of protection, and we'll bring you Cas's grace." 

Dean does that one eyebrow raised Robert De Niro look. "Just a promise of protection?" 

"That's it." Crowley sounds like he's lying, but Dean thinks that maybe it's on purpose. Crowley wants Dean to know that he's lying. 

"All right," Dean says. "I'll protect you." 

 

Crowley shows up when Dean is at the movies by himself. The theater is pretty empty and Dean is sitting at the back. No one notices Crowley appear. 

"Holy crap, man!" Dean hisses. "How did you find me?" 

"I know I can't track you with my demon juice, but that still doesn't mean I can't track your phone." 

Dean groans. "Dude. I just want to watch a movie." 

"I need you to do something for me." 

"I thought I was already doing something for you?" 

"That was small potatoes, Dean. I have a larger favor." 

"And what do I get?" 

"I have something that could maybe get Cas back. Once you get his grace, of course." 

"Can Cas come back?" 

"It's not like angels just go away when they die. They're infinite beings. You can stab one, send it away, burn the vessel, but you can't just destroy it." 

"Where do they go? Purgatory?" Dean might be okay with a trip to purgatory. He's been there, found Cas once before. He'd see Benny. He could do that. 

"No. There's a deep circle of hell. So deep not even I go there. When angels die they fall. That's where they go. Now poor, Cassie, is probably there. And think of all the angels he's killed, all the angels who have died for him. It's not that big a space, Squirrel, I doubt he could hide from them for very long. Of course, knowing our little idiot in a trench coat, he's not hiding from them. He's letting them rip him apart. And they can't die there, mate." 

"Crowley, stop. What do you want? I don't care. I'll do it." 

"Kill my mother." 

"What? Why?" 

"She's the one gunning for the throne. She's challenging me. I want her dead." 

"Why can't you kill her?" 

"I can't kill my own mother, Dean. Christ. Tell me you'll kill her. I know you want to." 

"Do you have Cas's Grace?" 

"I can get it. I...it's not a sure thing, Dean. Normally I'd keep that sort of thing from you, but I feel like you deserve it. I've watched you hurt and I can't help but feel a little responsible for some of your pain." 

"No shit, Crowley. What do you mean it's not a sure thing?" 

"Sometimes they can be too far gone to come back. Sometimes they don't want to. If Cas feels you call and he wants to come he'll come. That's what I can promise." 

Dean considers this. He nods once. "Okay. I'll take her out." 

 

Killing Rowena is easy. It's not this big hunt to get a witch and she's powerful, but the Winchesters have dealt with worse. Dean comes out with a few scrapes and bruises, Sam is the same. Then Crowley shows up with Metatron and Cas's grace in tow. Crowley sets Metatron down in a chair, helps the boys paint the wards to keep the angel locked safely inside. 

He hands Dean Cas's grace. It's in a small bottle, glowing like a living thing, moving around. And Dean can feel it, hear it whispering. He doesn't understand it, but sometimes he thinks he hears his name. It makes sense. Cas was made to save him form hell. Some small part of Dean would be a part of Cas's essence. 

Metatron sits in the chair and Dean wants to kill him. It's not the same way the mark controlled him. There isn't the same guilt. There isn't a need to kill and a need to stop. He just wnats to make Metatron hurt like he has. 

It doesn't last as long as he wants it to. And maybe that's a good thing. Because even torturing Alistair hurt him and Metatron isn't that much worse. 

Afterwards, after Metatron's body is burned, the ashes scattered with the wind, Crowley hands Dean a small scroll. 

"This is it," Crowley says. "This could bring him back." 

Dean takes it. He doesn't say thank you because Crowley isn't doing him a favor. They killed Metatron and Rowena for this. Sam mutters thanks, though, as Crowley leaves. 

Dean stares at the small scroll, looks up at Sammy. For the first time in a long time he feel something like hope. 

 

Dean says the words, lights the candles, spills the blood. 

There's a flash, smoke, the smell of lilies. 

Nothing happens. 

"Dean," Sam says, standing against a tree, arms crossed. 

"Just wait," Dean says. 

So they wait. They wait and wait and wait. Until the sun sets and the forest goes dark, until Dean's knees start to go numb from kneeling on the ground. 

Sam comes over, rests his hand on Dean's shoulder. He squeezes. "Come on, Dean. Crowley said it wasn't 100%." 

Dean nods. Sam has to help him up his knees are so stiff. He bends down with a groan and picks up the glass vial of Cas's grace. He opens it. 

"What are you doing?" Sam asks. 

"Letting him go." Dean watches Cas's Grace float away, up towards the sky, whispering his name all the while and Sam doesn't react so maybe only Dean can really hear it. "I'm done, Sam." 

"What?" 

"I'm moving on. Let's just do our thing. We'll save some people, hunt some things. But I'm done with heaven and hell and purgatory. I'm done with saving the world. Nothing complicated. We'll lay low, gank some ghosts, and keep going." 

"Really?" Sam asks. "Can we actually do that? After all of this can we actually just go back to how it used to be?" 

"Probably not exactly. But—." He lets out a long, uneven breath. "I'm done. We killed Metatron, killed Rowena. We saved heaven and hell. We've save the world too many times. And this is all we have left. He gestures to Baby and the bunker. We were the best and this is all we got." 

"I know, Dean." 

"So time to just do what we used to do. Keep it small. Keep ourselves going. You cool with that?" 

Sam nods and gives Dean a weak smile. "Yeah. The family business. Back on track." 

 

Crowley mutters to himself as he walks down the stairs holding Cas's grace in a bottle. Dean's an idiot. Just giving up and letting the damn thing go. Stupid Dean. 

Crowley found Cas's grace in a tree, much like Anna's. Angels have that sort of plant thing. They love it. Love the nature their idiot father created. 

He opens the door. 

The circle where the angels are held is more beautiful and horrible than purgatory. Crowley's never been there, but they can't hurt him here. It's still his turf. 

The crowd parts for him. Let him go straight to Castiel, who is naked and bloody, curled in a ball. Crowley turns his face towards him and Cas doesn't really see him. When he pulls the grace from his jacket a few angels stumble forward, but he holds up a hand. They stop. 

He pulls and angel blade and Cas stares at it like it's there to kill him and he doesn't care. 

"Please," he says, his voice is hoarse and broken. "Please, Crowley." 

Crowley sighs. He cuts a small slit in the side of Cas's throat and pours the grace back in. 

 

"Dean?" 

Dean bolts upright in his bed. He turns on the new lamp on the new side table. 

Cas. 

Cas standing there in the corner of his room, looking dirty and bloody and lost like when he got out of purgatory. 

"Cas," Dean breathes. He stands up, crosses the room and hugs him. It's Cas. He's solid. Not something that Dean is just imagining. He's really there. Really standing stiff against Dean. 

"Dean," Cas says and then he sags against him. He doesn't wrap his arms around Dean, but he lets his his head rest on Dean's shoulder. "You got new furniture." 

"Yeah. I broke the old stuff."

"Why?" 

Dean pauses. "You. I guess. Or not you. How are you...?" 

Cas shrugs. "As always I don't know. I was stabbed. Died. I remember death for a few moments. Not very long. Then I woke up just an hour or so ago on the side of the woods. My powers were back. I have my grace." 

"And the same body." 

"Yes. I know that usually things like this don't work out for us. We never come back without a catch. But, for right now, I'm going to allow myself to be happy." 

"I got your grace back," Dean says. "I tried to summon you and it didn't work." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry." Dean fists his hands against Cas's shirt, presses his nose into his neck. "don't be sorry. I let it happen, Cas. If I had, if I had been there. I could've kept you alive." 

"I was stabbed with an angel blade by another angel, Dean. You couldn't have saved me." He eases Dean away from him. "I need to shower." 

"You've got your grace back. Can't you just zap yourself clean?" 

"I want to shower. Help me shower." 

He takes Cas's hand in his own. He doesn't know why he does it but he does. He leads Cas from his room, towards the bathroom. Sam is asleep so he tries to stay quiet. It's easy to stay quiet. Cas doesn't speak. He stays silent as Dean lets him into the bathroom and turns the shower on. He lets Dean push his coat over his shoulders. He folds it, puts it on the toilet. He does the same with Cas's shirt after he buttons it. He pulls Cas's undershirt over his head. He runs his hand over the tattoos on Cas's chest and abdomen. 

Dean presses his forehead against Cas's shoulder. "Sorry," he says. "I just—I just need a second." 

"Take your time," Cas says. "I have so much of it now." 

Dean nods. He takes a deep breath and backs away. He works on Cas's pants, unzipping them, pulling them down over his already bare feet. His feet are bloody and cut up from his walk through the woods. 

"Why didn't you heal yourself?" Dean asks. 

Cas doesn't say anything, but Dean knows. Cas has the same self-destructive streak that Dean does. 

Dean pushes Cas's boxers down too. He imagined this in a different way so many times after Cas died. He thought about it before too, but after Cas was dead, after he let himself feel something, he imagined it in detail. He thought about what he would do with Cas's cock, how it might taste, how it would feel in his hand. 

"I'm gonna throw your clothes in the laundry while you shower." 

Cas shakes his head. "Don't. Get rid of them." 

"Get rid of them?" 

Cas nods. "Yeah. They aren't who I am. They're Jimmy's. That's not me." 

Dean nods. "Okay, Cas. I can get rid of them. I'll bring you something to wear." 

Cas nods. "All right, Dean." 

Dean leaves when Cas gets in the shower. He throws his clothes in the trash in the kitchen and grabs Cas pajama pants and a worn AC/DC t-shirt Dean keeps tucked in the back of his drawer. 

He goes back to the bathroom, folds them onto the toilet. 

"How you doing, Cas?" Dean asks. 

"Can you help me?" Cas asks him. "Please, Dean. I can't—I can't do anything." 

"What do you need me to do?" 

"Just get in here with me." 

Dean swallows, but doesn't argue. He pulls off his pajamas and hops into the shower with Cas. 

Cas hangs his head. "I just—I don't even know what to do." 

"Okay," Dean says, ignoring the way Cas looks covered in water, the hair on his belly leading to his cock. He ignores the muscles in Cas's shoulders. He grabs shampoo and squirts it into his hand. He massages it into Cas's scalp. 

"Thank you," Cas says. 

Dean doesn't say anything. He washes the shampoo out, careful to keep it from Cas's eyes. He conditions his hair next. The he washes him off with soap. 

He turns the shower off. He gets a towel and towels Cas off. He does the same for himself. Cas is just standing there, waiting. 

"I missed you," Dean says, drying his hair. 

"I deserved it. All the angels I killed. All the people I killed. You know that I was crazy, Dean. You know that I deserved it." 

Dean puts his hand to the side of Cas's neck, lifts his face up so Cas is looking him in the eye. "You didn't deserve it, Cas. You did so much good. You saved so many. It just—everyone makes bad decisions. I'm the king of bad decisions." 

Cas lets out a little laugh at that. "You have much more noble intentions." 

"Doesn't change what I've done, who I've killed." 

Cas's hand grips Dean's shoulder. "My faith in you has never wavered, Dean. Even at our weakest, I have always loved you." 

Dean swallows. Cas leans forward, his eyes flick up to meet Dean's. Dean leans forward, brushes his lips against Cas's. Dean always thought that kissing Cas would be explosive. In his fantasies there were fireworks, inability to keep from ripping off each other's clothes, falling into beds, fucking on tables. 

There aren't fireworks. There's comfort. Cas's lips against his own are easy, warm, like coming home and the weight of finally feeling home hits Dean so hard that tears spill down his cheeks. Cas kisses them away, smoothes his thumbs over Dean's cheeks. 

Dean reaches for Cas again, draws him in for another kiss. Cas gasps against his lips, presses closer, opens his mouth. 

The bathroom door opens. 

"Holy shit! What the fuck, Dean?" 

It slams and Sam is still yelling on the other side of it. "Are you kidding me, Dean? What the hell, man? You can't bring people—wait. Was that Cas?" 

The door opens again and Dean and Cas quickly wrap towels around their hips. Dean starts to laugh. He can't help it. It's probably the emotional roller coaster of he night but his laughs turn a little hysteric and Cas puts an arm around him. 

"I don't even know what to address first," Sam says and he looks horrified, but he's also smiling. "Cas, buddy. How?" 

Cas shakes his head. "I don't know." 

Sam pulls him forward into a hug. "I don't care if you're naked. I missed you so much. Get dressed, idiots. Let's talk. I'll make coffee." 

"Hot chocolate," Dean says. 

"What?" 

"Make hot chocolate." 

Sam smiles and nods and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Dean pulls Cas forward and presses a hard kiss to his lips. "Welcome back, Cas."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! We're on Tumblr! http://planiforidjit.tumblr.com/


End file.
